Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s Some Rant Lit!

Dear <redacted> Leadership,

(Or whomever is responsible for making poor litigation decisions at <redacted>),

I’m writing to express a sincere and profound disappointment in your collective decision to aggressively pursue litigation capitalism to target any competitor that creates a product inspired by the <redacted> <redacted> design. 

It is never a good thing to create tension with customers as doing so always results in lost sales.

My personal disappointment in your recent decisions will reflect lost future sales from this hobby enthusiast artist. Over the years various <redacted>s and <redacted>s have come and gone through my collection. I have generally had a favorable impression of your products. Like most musicians my needs and requirements evolve over time. As such I have sometimes replaced <Name redacted> guitars with guitars from other manufacturers. However, even during those instances in which I decided to acquire a non <redacted> product, there was almost always a <redacted> in list of candidates. In business we win some, you lose some, but the important thing is to remain in the game so that perhaps the tides turn the next time a customer is looking for a product that you also offer.

Up until now, in zero instances were my choices were ever guided by a distaste for <redacted>‘s business practices. That is no longer the case. 

I still own a <redacted><redacted> as well as a <redacted>. These currently do not bring me any joy since you began your ongoing litigation attacks across the industry. It has actually prompted me to pull my <redacted> out of the closet even though its software is such a pain. I'll keep the <redacted> for the time being in the closet as I cannot stomach to look at it.

I was also in the market for a cabinet for the <redacted> and the <redacted> was at the top of that list. It is no longer on the list.

Speaking of <redacted>, I assume you are paying royalties to <redacted> “<redacted>” <redacted>for aping his <redacted> that you named “<redacted>”, or <redacted> for <redacted> design that you label “<redacted>”, or <redacted> for aping a <redacted> and calling it a “<redacted>” even though it is clearly the same <redacted> color that <redacted> amps known design. Etc, Etc, Etc. Or perhaps not, distinctions without merit withstanding. I know, I know, no one can claim to own a circuit or impulse response. But these are crazy times, so who is to say you won’t attempt to do such with your various <redacted> tones?

No one questions that there is only one true <redacted> <redacted> guitar. It is yours. It the reference point. It’s an original icon. Congratulations by the way. That guitar was developed by <redacted>, bears the <redacted> trademark and headstock and was manufactured exclusively to be badged, marketed and sold explicitly as a <redacted> <redacted>. Let us take a moment of silence out of respect.

I support the notion that <redacted> ought not be forced to compete against competitors attempting to directly counterfeit the <redacted> brand. If an organization is creating products that seek to directly mislead consumers into believing the product to be a <redacted>, or more specifically as <redacted> in this instance, that should be prevented and <redacted> should be able to seek legal remedy to insure their namesake and trademark is protected.

Unfortunately, an alarming number of products and competitors you have chosen to go after, are not attempting to sell <redacted><redacted> replicas. They are, at best, directly inspired by <redacted>, or simply offering something that <redacted>, for whatever reasons, will not produce. These businesses have been doing this legally for decades. And none of them are attempting to mislead customers. Hell, while I am certain they love to make a living, I am as certain that they also love <redacted>. I do not see any examples of these businesses suggesting or uttering a wish that you go out of business. In fact I would imagine a fair number of them would begrudgingly admit that they would prefer their customers purchase a <redacted> if it meant <redacted> remained in business.

These folks are not meaningfully harming <redacted>. They are simply providing products that you, in actuality, do not and cannot provide. Your scales of economy are such that it is not financially possible for you to provision the types of instruments these businesses provide. They are not attempting to be a <redacted> in that they are providing alternatives that address capabilities, aesthetics, and functions not addressed by <redacted>. More often than not, these guitars are often only fractionally inspired by the your <redacted> product line in the same manner that the waistline of all guitars are derivative of the original acoustic guitars, which were in turn inspired by their acoustical stringed forebears.

<Redacted> is an iconic brand. Imitation is a form of flattery. You get absolutely free publicity for your brand anytime any one directly or indirectly references <redacted><redacted>alongside a give product. Even when that association is incorrect. Oftentimes what is seemingly imitation, is simply the logical result of how a product is designed for the function it intends to satisfy. 

Many guitarists own guitars that cut across a broad swath of styles, manufacturers, brands, countries of origin, colors, pick ups, headstocks, etc. Guitarists are hardly loyal to a given brand. It is a quirky industry where people love to cross pollinate their art with from a variety of tools. Most of us have more than one guitar. It is extremely common for some one to own two similar guitars from two different brands and nonetheless love both instruments equally and see each guitar and different as they are similar. They will use words that make and phrases that make no sense to draw parallels and distinctions between them. “This guitar has a certain grit where as this one has more of a zing, but they both have that ‘thing’!”

To be sure there are also many guitarists are associated with a specific brand. <redacted> and his <redacted>, for example. In actuality, he also played a <redacted><redacted> at times. He also played a <redacted><redacted>. There are also countless players who will have that one special, very special, ancient <redacted>, but also love that brand new <redacted> guitar from that one boutique shop that also reminds them of that very special no longer produced museum piece. That even the “greats” have multiple guitars that share similarities, is indicative of a culture in which <redacted> is rarely excluded, widely included and is not damaged by competition that leverages common and similar characteristics. If nothing else anytime some one buys a guitar they probably at least had a moment when <redacted> wandered through their analytical process.

What more do you want? I do not understand. I guess the end state is that only <redacted> sells guitars? I don’t think you understand how that end result would ultimately be a loss in total sales. <Redacted> is a rock and roll brand. That rebel nature is never going to leave your customers. A lot of them will respond with the equivalent of a figurative middle finger.

While there are many “<redacted>” inspired guitars, few of them intend to mislead the consumer. Commonly most of these inspired by instruments are not analogous to the <redacted><redacted>. They are neither badged nor marketed as <redacted><redacted>. Badging and trademark’s aside, they also often have many aspects that distinguish them from a <redacted><redacted>. Pick up and play a <redacted><redacted> and you will find it is dimensionally distinct from a <redacted><redacted>with obvious contours that are not found on a <redacted><redacted>. These provide for a more elegant instrument and more player friendly distinct design. Additionally, you will notice it also has different pickups, different mechanical appointments and borrows heavily from other <redacted> product. It also has its own headstock design and, yes, it has bird inlays. 

It is not a <redacted><redacted>. It is not pretending to be. Is it a competitor? Sure, as are any number of 3 pick up guitars. But it is neither a clone nor a copy. Nor is it a <redacted><redacted>inspired <redacted>. Unfortunately, for you, the <redacted><redacted> is a <redacted>guitar that inspires a <redacted>. 

Full disclosure, I had, but no longer possess a <redacted>. Perhaps I am just not a <redacted> guy? Heck, I’m barely a guitar guy, but I did once have a Mexican <Name redacted> and after that a <redacted>. Now no <redacted>. For today. But if really am not a <redacted> guy, only time will really tell, so best not create friction with me and instead focus on inspiring me to part with my dear, dear, precious money. But a lot of us will say we are not a <redacted> guy, know deep deep down in the bottom of our very hearts that we are not in fact <redacted> guys…. And then we will still, nonetheless, go out and purchase another god damn <redacted><redacted> a couple of years later thinking “maybe, I am a <redacted>guy? Maybe, just maybe this time I will get it. There is a non zero chance I could be a fucking <redacted> guy. A late bloomer so to speak. This time I will get tones that will make <redacted> blush! I just feel it!” So we get the <redacted>. Again!

But I guess the next time I think this I will be looking for anything NOT a <redacted><redacted>because in my subconscious I feel a bit of ick. I do. It is undefineable. It is vague. But clearly there. There is something not right about <redacted>. That is what I think. It’s sour smelling, like curdled milk left on the counter overnight. “Oh!”, I will think, “<redacted>believes the <redacted><redacted> is nothing more than a commodity! Like a disposable razor. And here I was I was fantasizing and rocking out in my head to an audience of billions with the full confidence that my instrument of choice. I was loving it! But, well, I see you think it is nothing more than a disposable meaningless, dime dozen tool. But now I also question why I need the tool at all.”

Or as likely, perhaps I will sigh and just get an entirely different guitar that is not in anyway associated with any past or present or hopefully future <redacted> guitar.)

The unfortunate casualty in all of this, a self own on your part, is that <redacted> has now reduced the market for their own product. It has become a common to see large companies as of late make odd decisions that remove their repeat customers from their base. It is honestly a baffling part of the 21st century US business model: Create friction and alienate a customer base. Lose sales.

Not understanding your customers, particularly the repeat customers, is economically costly.

But you do you.

Aside from losing market share through product avoidance by the very consumers that reliably purchased your product over the years, your organization has also limited the potential number of customers by attempting to force our decision making to exclude your competitors. Most customers prefer choice. Generally speaking guitarists are quite amendable to having multiple versions of a similar style guitar across a number of brands. You were not losing sales. If anything, your new position perversely suggests you need fewer guitars as your implication is “they are all more or less the same and do not have fundamental distinctions.” Clearly your customers who won several guitars disagree as they have said as much in oh so many ways.

Many guitarists own guitars that cut across a broad swath of styles, manufacturers, brands, countries of origin, colors, pick ups, headstocks, etc. They love to collect them. Guitarists are hardly loyal. They see each as uniquely necessary. Most guitar enthusiasts own multiple guitars and most collections are not exclusive to a single model or even a single brand. Unlike an automobile collection, a person can reasonably acquire multiple guitars.

I think pretty much only <redacted> has exclusively played the same instrument over the past 50 years. I guess, goodness for him, it wasn’t a <redacted> inspired guitar that he chose as your litigative nature suggests you’d love to walk right up there to him on stage and serve him a cease and desist while he plays one of his even more iconic songs. Though, then again, I do look at his well worn <Name redacted> and its gentle waist line and I think “It is interesting that <name redacted> chose to ape the <redacted> acoustic waistline. How unoriginal and borrowed.” If we are being sincere and honest, isn’t most every electric guitar simply amplified derivatives of the original acoustic guitar design that was in turn already borrowing from other stringed predecessors? Perhaps you ought to consider installing pick ups on a kick drum or something more novel?

My advice is that if you want to prevent an ever decreasing market share, drop the legal nonsense before it erodes further trust from you customer base. Instead of engaging your consumers and competitors in litigation warfare and attemoting to make the word “<redacted>” a pejorative, focus on improving your products and become better business people. Make it clear to ownership that <redacted> must always prioritize their customers and that not doing so will cost themselves business opportunities.

<Redacted> was an originator. An OG. Imitation is a form of flattery. I’ve read and viewed several opinions on this matter. The majority of these opinions underscore a sense of sadness and frustration that <redacted>’s leadership has chosen this path. I do not hear a lot of vitriol even though <redacted>’s “Cease and Desist” reads as a hostile heavy handed, and feels inappropriate. I think many of these folks are willing to look beyond this incident provided it is rapidly pulled back and appropriate contrition expressed. 

I’ll close by relaying a similar experience I had with another brand several years ago. Several years ago bicycle brand decided they had the brilliant idea to sue a small <redacted> bike shop that used the name <redacted> in their shop’s name as well as some wheels that were built by this same shop. The bicycle brand reasoned that because they had a bike line that they chose to name “<redacted>”; and had named it so prior to the bike shop’s use of the term; they believed they were entitled to control the marketplace in so far as that name was concerned. 

The cycling community strongly pushed back. Why? Ultimately because the name <redacted> is derived from a town in <redacted>. It has been around far longer than the bicycle. It is also the namesake for the <redacted> professional road race that started in 1896. The bike brand didn’t even become a brand until close to the beginning of the disco era. In short, the name had a certain reverence for the community that could not be commoditized and actually really belonged to a culture of people and not a corporations.

People who loved cycling, and particularly bicycle racing, were saddened and frustrated that this brand was simply making a litigation play because they felt they could shut down a small shop without consequence by suing them into submission. The bike brand attempted to take something beautiful in the sport, the name of an iconic race, the iconic name of <redacted>, and attempted to commoditize it for their own, exclusive, benefit. Rather than leverage the name and branding independently and highlight the many things they were doing right (they had World Champions riding their bikes, they were at the forefront of using larger diameter tires for those years, and were heavily invested into making frames vertically compliant and laterally stiff within their <redacted> product line, etc); they chose to insist that this small previously unknown small bike shop was somehow “costing meaningful harm to their business!” And therefor must be stopped through the fields of litigation where every battle is a barely making a living David vs the well funded Goliath.

Us customers, specifically the middle aged male cycling over enthusiast looking for one last chance for glory in sport, were not having it. We pushed back. And we were a meaningful demographic. Just funded enough to live delusional even though we were long in the tooth. For it was love of a culture, including a love of history for that culture, that drew us so passionately into its fold. It was the perfect blend of arduous sport and romantisized male culture. In a rare moment of unity we banded together to make it clear to all that the common men, the non fussy men you hear less from because they just stay out of trouble, the men driving this capitalist show at the very moment, these men reminded the brand of the history of the sport. And then reminded them their place in the sport. Which was closer to the bottom than they probably realized.

Common sense eventually prevailed. The bike brand eventually relented. 

I had a couple of the bikes from this brand at the time. I no longer have these bikes. I have occasionally purchased tires from them. There is probably a lesson somewhere in this.

It would be sad if there were a world where <redacted> was of no meaningful value.

Thanks from reading this.

Sincerely,

<Redacted>

Hobbyist Artist and Guitar Enthusiast

I wrote the above as a sincere and mindful personal performative response to a litigation battle <redacted> decided to needlessly pursue. It's needless. It will not improve their business bottom line. It's dumb. It’s dumb to create friction with your loyal customers when it did not previously exist. It is an intentional self own. It is a figurative kick in the nuts to your market share. It creates hesitations at best and direct avoidance at worst.

That epistemological text is the appetizer for the entree. The letter now serves as performative expression that presents but one empirical example as to how Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols heavily influenced my comfort with being defiant, resolute, vocal and insistent when the need arises.

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols was my introduction into punk Music and its specific form of rebellious spirit. I was sold on the genre by time the first line of lyrics was complete.

I think having Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols being the punk album that most influenced me is hilarious. My younger musical snob critic versions of myself would have been appalled at this and decried it cliché. That version of my self would have attempted to diminish its influence and tossed in several qualifiers and then, perhaps, insisted it was actually The Circle Jerk’s Wonderful that really deserved the honor. Or perhaps l would have been tempted to tell a mighty tall tale and insist that it was the Stooges and their eponymous album. In all cases that version of myself would have obviously avoided the Ramones debut as being “too predictable” a choice.

But, scout’s honor, my gateway into the world of punk music was Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols and that is about as honest an answer you can get from a person in this day and age. All pretenses aside, it is what it is.

The earliest years of my musical diet consisted predominantly of country and western music; 50’s and 60’s Classic rock and pop; American Top 40 by Casey Kasem; and disco. My parents had fairly moderate tastes in music and were not wildly adventurous in that regard. There were no alternative or independent radio stations available to me. There was a small college radio 15 miles away, but its signal never reached my house. Digital streaming did not exist.

This is not to suggest it was an abhorrent diet. Many good songs were ingested. But to be sure there was also lot of needless audio sugar and bad tonal chemicals, Regardless, I had no real means to know what music existed on the various albums from artists that were not featured on the radio unless I purchased them. At some point I became willfully exploratory. I’d risk parting with my limited funds to pursue a wild gambit based on an urge (or more likely interesting cover art) and purchase something I had never been exposed to before and thus no preconceived notions. Eventually, my best friend and I would mostly purchase cassettes that neither of us had heard before and we would then create cassette copies so we each had a version to listen to at our own leisure for purposes of critical evaluation.

Sometimes we struck out, but often we struck gold.

I probably purchased the cassette version of Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols in 1985? Who knows? But it was many years after its initial release. It happened to randomly be the first punk oriented album I purchased. Punk music didn’t meaningfully make it to my neck of the woods until 1984? My generation lacked social media and it was rare to find alternative publications in the magazine aisle at the grocery store. I only became aware of Punk as a “thing” in junior high when a girl started dying her hair wild shades of pink and begun wearing thrift store clothing with intention. By time I was in high school there were a small gaggle of kids wearing punk themed thrift store attire with various forms of died hair and chopped styles.

I was never into the apparel aesthetics of the punk scene. Though I don’t mind it on others it was just not my thing to attire myself in such a manner. Absent a brief stint as hippie when I was in college, I generally don’t prefer the regimentation of uniform or the expectations of such. I‘m not judgmental of others that do. It’s just not something that moves me personally. I tend to be an introverted lone wolf of sorts and tend to present myself more or less, good or bad, as such. That isn’t to say I do not dress strangely at times. I do. It is often not by intent, but rather just poor taste on my part. I jokingly say I often dress like a new modern bohemian hobo.

I also had no idea the album and the attire were related in any manner whatsoever when I first happened across the album because I did not know it was a punk album when I first picked it up.

While the fashion sense of the punk movement never really appealed to me, the defiance and attitude I heard within music itself was something that certainly did resonate with me. Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols immediately struck a chord with me. Simple chords to boot. Its heavy direct social critique and especially the use of sarcasm in particular were therapeutic to me. It was immediately relatable despite the distances of time, geographies and circumstances.

I'm not a dissident. I am also not a contrarian. But I am unquestionably defiant at times. I have convictions rooted in the history of humanity. I express these politely but firmly, when the occasion requires. I will dig my heels in and become an unmovable obstacle to the hostile agent that seeks to battle my convictions.

I am not defiant needlessly or “for the sake of”. My defiance is generally quiet and reserved because I am polite by nature and tend to not be rash or impulsive. I like to think I am defiant only when necessary. My defiance is always rooted in my carefully considered cabinet of ethics and those include a personal demand that I avoid being a rash decision maker. I am not a pushover, walkover, or any manner subservient to the chaotic whims of others. I push back when it is the mature and responsible thing to do or when my personal autonomy is under threat. I will take positions. I will stick to them regardless the personal cost when warranted.

I do not believe everything must be endlessly debated. I do not believe everything requires I voice my opinion. I am loathe to express myself on most topics. Not out of shyness or a lack of confidence, but out of sheer disinterest in mindless argumentation. Once in a while I will find myself, due to my ethics, in a situation where I simply must speak up and out because it is simply the right thing to do. During those times, I may become more pointedly defiant depending on the circumstances.

You’d know if you were the agent causing my defiance. When I am defiant, I am resolute. And you will note it. Because I am typically a pretty easy going guy. If I become animated; begin to use definitive tones with you; and also actively refuse to do what you are asking me to do; then you know I am being defiant. It’s not rocket science, though I do find it startles folks when they first encounter it from me.

I have little to no respect for those who possess authority by title alone. The most common recipients of my defiance are those individuals who have been given some ill advised loosely veiled title that encourages them to fully believe that they have some form of absolute authority over me (say a boss) and who also lack any demonstrable expertise who then demand that I do something that I find clearly unethical; truly wasteful; needlessly controlling; or just plain stupid. I will undermine these people’s authority by directly refuting their request. I fully realize that they will likely reject any rational, sound, or logical argument I may have with their edict. Regardless, I will share my reasons as a courtesy. They will rarely listen for comprehension, so my words fall onto deaf ears. Most often these people will resort to insisting that I perform that command because “They have the authority to demand I comply.”

In return I will politely and firmly insist that “No” is my final answer. At this point they may find themselves staring back into my eyes in a manner that suggests they cannot believe my audacity. They may begin to rage and gnash their teeth at the notion that not only have I questioned their paper authority over me, but that I have also dismissed their authority entirely.

And I will continue staring right back at them. A rock wall of conviction. They will make declarative statements that they are “the boss of me”. They will demand me to be subservient to them, using those actual words. They will imply I have no choice but to obey them and that I am being impossible suggesting there is any other option. They may also threaten to toss me out onto the street where I will have no job. They will “Tell me the way it is!”

And none of this will matter because I will continue to be unmoved by their entreaties. I may become irritated at them for being daft if they won’t change their tact. I will see in their behavior a form of weakness that they are unable to compel me through logic and reason and as such will feel even more strongly that I am right and they are entirely wrong.

I will remain defiant for decades and even up to this very day. I loathe insistency that attempts to circumvent my ethics. I find that behavior bullying and bullies transform me into the most defiant version of myself. Now I am defiant squared. Bullies are such a drag. They must be dealt with through consistent refusals to accumulate their demands. This is the only way.

You can never give a bully anything. They tend to be narcissistic which makes them even less interesting. Doing anything amenable only serves to further embolden them. They will often see even the simplest gesture of courtesy, a gesture you would grant every person, as a from of submissive compliance.

A narcissistic bully is a pain in the same way a female mosquito is and neither will ever change. They are what they are. Any response that is not firmly a rejection is akin to appeasing a person that is romantically interested in you, a person you find distasteful, by agreeing to go have coffee with them again and again because you are “nice”. If you do anything other than politely, firmly and incessantly reject every proposal that person offers, they will become your nightmare. They will see your agreement to coffee as codespeak for “they are in the running and winning!”

Exhausting and unpleasant though it may be, you must firmly reject their entreaties. If the person is a sociopathic narcissist, it is best to always ignore them as that is the best possibility you have at thwarting them.

A person must stand for something other than themselves if they wish to also be a good person. Any miscreant could stand for only themselves. Every infant starts their lives behaving as such. We don’t hand them the keys to the world. Most of us learn through consequence that we need allies and that we will always get far more with honey than we do with the switch.

Where did my sense defiance originate? Fuck knows. It didn’t generate from Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols album. I can tell you that much. It was there well before then. I have always been, at best, extraordinarily stubborn. It is probably innate. If I am a reincarnated animal from a prior life, well, in that prior life I was likely an ass. I tend to do my own thing. I am entirely comfortable being the only person in the room that holds a certain point of view. It does not affect my behavior or confidence whatsoever other than to force me to make it clear I am not ok with the general attitudes or convictions expressed throughout the room.

I am not impolite about it. I will not grand stand or get on a soap box. I do not feel that I need to sell my point of view. Who cares what my point of view is anyways?I don’t placate, support, kiss up to, express solidarity, or demonstrate any other sycophantic behavior when someone else is spouting off some abhorrent nonsense.

I do know that Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols provided me brothers in solidarity in matters of defiance and helped me understand taking a position however unpopular is a-ok. They often sang about the oppressive nature of the monarchy or politics in England and not how the principal refused us the ability to wear shorts in school during hot days. Placing aside the scales of magnitudes and that I was living in a rural town in the US, I nonetheless felt these blokes were simply on the right track with their expressiveness. My country may have torn our shackles from the monarchy off in a revolutionary manner centuries before, but as an impassioned student of history I was more than willing to support their invitation to the party. And certainly, they would agree that ought I not be able to attire myself in whatever manner I felt was appropriate?

Their expressions of anger and frustration and the no nonsense unapologetic direct approach to vocalize these in an aggressive and insistent manner resonated with me. It was entirely therapeutic for this young male specimen lost in a rural sea of blind acceptance and unfounded assertions of moral superiority that favored actively oppressing minority points of view. It was necessarily cathartic during my hormone driven crazy teen years.

Oddly, that I didn’t always agree with what was being decried lyrically by Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols was irrelevant to my enjoyment of the album. While anarchy, for example, often sounds like cathartic response to political oppression, I personally have found over my many rotations around the sun that we already been live under loosely veiled forms of anarchy across the globe. Sometimes it is less loosely veiled than at other times. Having lived under a certain form of lawlessness during my lifetime, I personally don’t believe that anarchy betters the human condition. But I also confess to having no actual sustainable solutions to our various ongoing human organizational crisis. So rather than lamenting a disagreement with respect to views on governmental preferences, I leaned into what is a shared experience of general frustration at so called authority. Because that frustration binds many of us and is a largely shared human experience. Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols makes me feel I am not alone in feeling that generalized sense of frustration. There is a solidarity in believing “the man” is out to get all of us. Even now, decades later, I will on occasion play this album just for the cathartic experience of venting frustration.

Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols is one of those albums whose standing seems to fluctuate over time in pop culture circles. At times it is lauded for being a seminal album of intrinsic value. At other times it is derided as overstated and derivative. Many of these same critiques seem to be generated by self accounted gate keepers who “were there in 1977 on that one day that only they were there and anyone not there is a wanker and poseur”. Others will go on and on in response about how it isn’t the first punk album. I am not sure why that is an argument, but people will get quite animated and suggestive that this tidbit of knowledge “changes everything.

Hence the tendency for Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols to often be viewed as cliché.

But none of this matters to me. Not one bit. I was seven when this album was released. It’s not my fault I couldn’t be there. It was entirely a coincidence that I saw it on the rack several years later at the only record store in the mall. My history with it is independent of pop culture. My relationship with it has nothing to do with 1970’s England. Or clothes. Or hairstyles. Or critical approval. Or parental disapproval. Or whatever magazine critics did or did not write about it. Or what the band members said about it.

I was an entirely clean slate.

All I had to go by was the album cover, which isn’t much to go by if you are unaware of punk music. It is a simple screen print looking album cover of words spelling out Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols in an odd color. It was atypical to most pop culture and hair band metal albums that were the majority of the offerings available to me during the 1980s. Its aesthetics were such that it suggested it was perhaps barebones; not “fancy”; and perhaps rough. I didn’t buy it the first several times I saw it because I had no clue as to what the fuck was on it. But eventually I relented because I was adventurous and found taking these forays into the unknown would, on occasion, reward me with audio treasures of priceless value.

When I first heard it after I plopped it into my budget oriented cassette player, it was the first time I had heard any such music. It was guitar heavy, but not in any virtuosic manner that was all the rage at the time in the metal and rock scenes. It was almost barbarian. The vocals were less sing song and more in your face. I loved it. And it turned out that it was a solid representative introduction for that genre. It was direct, consolidated, and to the point. Abrasive, but coherent. It succeeded to express itself as it intended. I was sold. I didn’t need a social backstory or critical blessing to justify it or ordain it as worthy. I self concluded that I loved the album. Immediately. So much so that I wanted to hear more such music and begun to actively seek out its other companion animals with rabid enthusiasm.

And so began a wild search for any form of music that shared these sensibilities. From this one listening experience I acquired a desire and passion to adventure onwards into punk music and its associates. Without Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols I would never have never heard Hex Enduction Hour by The Fall. Or the Minutemen’s Double Nickels on the Dime. Or The Dead Milkmen’s Big Lizard in My Backyard. Or Black Flag’s Slip It In. Or Alien Sex Fiend’s It the Album. Or Hüsker Dü’s New Day Rising. And on and on and on.

Without Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols, perhaps I would have never picked up Camper Van Beethoven’s Telephone Free Landslide Victory on account that it also has a screen print style album cover. Perhaps I wouldn’t have become curious about the Sonic Youth cassettes nearby on the rack?

You get the idea. The list of auditory acquisitions and permutations that were the result of this single listening experience is endless.

What I gained from Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols is a demonstration, previously unavailable to me, that from a human perspective it is ok to be defiant and it is also ok to express your frustration. Prior to this album I had never considered that I could vocally push back on the incessant baseless narratives that mainstream culture assumed would be down my gullet without question. Providing we are not meaningfully harming others, we need not always be fish forced to flow with the current. In facts, sometimes we must be salmon who insist we will somehow navigate up seemingly impassable waterfalls and currents. We can even state such aggressively to music or through words or through other artistic mediums.

I was not really aligned with some of the values espoused in the rural community I grew up in. I was appalled by the levels of racism, homophobia, xenophobia and religious zealotry. I was in a distinct minority in those regards.

I was not woke. That term is a meaningless undefined pop culture term that arose many decades later to bait people. I was simply of the Mister Rogers’ children’s television point view of the world: “Be a helper.” “Be kind.” In general, I found that while many of my cohorts shared this opinion, many in actuality often expressed a desire to only practice these good behaviors towards people that generally looked and behaved like themselves. Everyone else was considered either a <pejoratives>, <pejorative> or <pejorative>.

While I was not ok with a lot of the views espoused around me, I also had no idea how one should express a counter narrative. I am also not an instigator, rabble rouser, or hooligan. But I am resolute in so far as what I see as right or wrong. I fully believe and expect all humans should be treated equally. And when some of us are not, then that requires we work together and remedy the situation for the betterment of all. I understand that many people feel very strongly otherwise. I do not care for that opinion and believe them to be wrong. I will continue to treat people with kindness and respect and will insist others also do such.

But how does one change a culture that unquestionably believes otherwise and simply overwhelms you and your point of view with nonsense?

Fuck if I know.

This circumstance was its own form of isolation at times in this community. I didn’t feel comfortable with the beliefs of many of my fellow classmates. Often the males were most vocal. But even females would adopt these distaseful positions.

I recall sitting at table in the library in junior high discussing a magazine cover that highlighted an article about inter racial marriage. Around the table were six or seven fellow classmates and we were to discuss a topic of controversy as a class assignment. I have no idea who picked the magazine, but I initially felt “This is not really controversial.”

I obviously did not really understand until that moment how most of my classmates viewed this topic.

I stated that I felt inter racial marriage was entirely ok. A girl across from me said “Gross!” and another classmate said something unrepeatable. The question was posed to me if I would disgustingly marry a <pejorative>? I said, ”Sure, if I loved them, why wouldn’t I?” I got flabbergasted annd uncomfortable stares from many at the table in return. Out of the several of us at the table only me and one other person felt it was more than ok to marry whomever person you wanted. The remainder were vocal that this was gross and not ok and implied there was something wrong with me for having this perspective.

I was dumbfounded as some of these kids seemed like nice people up until this moment. Now I was confused as to how I was in such a distinct minority of people in this community. I was even more befuddled at how these often outwardly religious people could be outwardly vicious and “un-Jesus”.

I had no answers or guidance. It didn’t change my beliefs. They didn’t change theirs. If anything, I was more insistent on retaining my beliefs because I was entirely unmoved by their counterarguments of “gross” and “<pejorative>”.

The feeling of not fitting in with the herd and being unwilling to subjugate my beliefs to peer pressures predated my exposure to the Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols album. I recall feeling like there was limited hope in this world when so many want to entirely remove huge swaths of people that they find objectionable for stupid reasons. This felt alienating and frustrating to me. But, I was generally invisible. I could only imagine what it must have felt like for those that were the targets of this animosity, hatred, and vitriol.

This was also during a time when a lot of boys had also taken up to calling everyone a pejorative term for gay. I wasn’t gay, but I found it odd how suddenly anything could suddenly “make you gay” and that “being gay was bad!”

The only reason I didn’t want to be labeled gay is that I felt it would harm my standing as an available bachelor with any of the cute girls in class. I didn’t want them to believe in any manner that I was anything but entirely available to them and wholly on the market.

I needed all the help I could get.

Beyond that I couldn’t understand why everyone was suddenly all up in arms about everyone’s sexual preferences and how they were certain everyone was gay. The rate of accusations suggested several unfounded opinions masquerading as contradictory truths existed at the same time: A great number of my male classmates felt the majority of their male classmates were gay; gay was considered a contagious incurable malignant condition; at the same time it was always impossible for the inquisitor making these claims to ever be or become gay; being gay was the worst possible thing one could be; and, finally, one must declare everyone gay as a means to stop the spread of rampant gayness.

I thought all of this was entirely irrational. This also damaged the gay people who were my classmates. I do not know if this had anything to do with the three suicides that occurred within a 9 month span. It probably didn’t help, though.

One lament I have is that I did not understand that I already had friends who were legitimately gay and I was not vocal in supporting them during these years they probably needed it most. But back in the 80’s folks tended to remain in the closet out of obvious and genuine concerns for their safety. And I had zero templates as to how one supported closeted people that I did not yet know existed.

This isn’t to say, in any manner, that I am in any way a victim myself. I was not and I am not. I would encounter things on occasion that I felt were uncomfortable. But just because something makes you feel uncomfortable it does not make it universally wrong or that you have suffered meaningful trauma. Traumas are needless injuries caused by an outside force; the experience of such providing no meaningful benefit. I experienced only discomfort because I at least learned something of value that far outweighed my discomfort which was never more than moderately uncomfortable.

Besides, everything can be uncomfortable when it is newly experienced. I had learned only through trial and error what was or was not acceptable. But being acceptable, I learned, did not always mean I would feel comfortable.

For example, I grew up with an innate notion that lying is always wrong. Others among us think lying is no big deal. These people are not worthy of my trust. That is not traumatic, but that circumstance of life causes me a lot of personal discomfort.

And those years right up until I encountered Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols were filled with these issues causing variable forms of discomfort. Most everything encountered was suddenly new, as though it were a second birth; a birthing from childhood and into the slow dystopia of adulthood. People were starting to have sex, or lie about it. People were starting to do things like smoke and drink booze. People were starting to drive and do dangerous things in cars. People were beginning to assert themselves as expressions of dominance. People suddenly gave a shit about what they wear. People were trying to be cool.

I had also begun to figure out that various adult authority figures like teachers, people in business, and other various adults around me were often capable of misleading me. Sometimes through incompetency; sometimes with good intentions; and sometimes willfully. Often through a mixture of the three. Again, nothing traumatic happened to me. But I began to observe and note things that made me question adult authority and, in turn, all authority. These instances would take me down different forks of the road with different adults: Trust but verify; Trust but derive your own conclusion due to their obvious bias; Don’t fucking trust.

With respect to all of these socio-political issues that began popping up during puberty, I had no idea what my role in any of this was supposed to be. I had no known templates to follow to help me through these contradictions that surrounded me. I could at best rapidly figure out if something was generally right or generally wrong based on what I had come to understand was expected from a reasonably good person. I had learned this through Mister Rogers’ Nieghborhood, a public channel children’s show that highly influenced my early childhood. It espoused helping others; being curious; and practicing general human kindness.

I considered this elementary stuff, and that was Mister Rogers’ primary audience: those people in the earliest years of their lives. But he never really addressed the direct and more dangerous confrontations that present themselves during the years of puberty though early adulthood and what one does when surrounded by people who only applied universal truths to only some people in some circumstances and freely dismissed these in all others.

There was no internet to find other people who felt similar to you that you could use as reference for guidance. I had friends who understood my perspectives, but none of them had answers either and we would often just roll our eyes during uncomfortable times in a What do you do? manner. My parents were good parents, but I also think these puberty issues are as much about how you learn as an individual to begin holding yourself accountable for being a good person. You’ve been given the high level directives. Don’t harm others. Help people. Don’t be a dick. Etc, Etc. Now it is up to you to begin living up to them. No one’s perfect and the situations and circumstances you encounter along the way are so variable and surprising that you often feel entirely unprepared and you think to your self you have no idea. But persevere and figure it out, you must! It’s a skill that I think surprisingly many people don’t bother to develop.

This lack of certainty in how one dealt with all of these new circumstances and situations caused a fair amount of bewilderment, exasperation and frustration.

It wasn’t until I heard Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols that I had something close to an outlet for these simmering frustrations. This album provided me an inkling as to how those who were concerned with injustices and general bullshit and were angry could express themselves without simply caving in and becoming the very things they resented. The album introduced me into a world where it was ok to loudly and clearly express your personal distaste for various abhorrent behaviors that surrounded you. It provided me needed confidence that I didn’t need to acquiesce my common sense to ill themed whims and judgments of a mindless majority. Still, better yet, it wasn’t generally bogged down in gun culture or macho bullshit. But neither was it frail or timid. Nor was it veiled or masked under quiet literary conceit.

It was vocal and direct. And listening to it felt fucking great. That it often used sarcasm and obnoxious satire as tools of expression and unapologetically did so was liberating. I was grateful to finally find the right outlet to feel and vent my frustrations with the world.

I’m often surprised at the number of folks who adamantly exclaim that music should always be without politics when the history of song is riddled with examples that suggest otherwise. It has been a godsend for this individual that music, and art in general, can also be used to communicate and confront the social and political ills that surrounded us. If nothing else it is meaningfully therapeutic and makes me a better person.

Up until Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols, I had rarely heard music that was outright political. Protest or political songs in my community generally had to be sly or require literary skills to appropriately decipher and understand its true intent and menacing. Direct, head on, songs would be rarely played locally. Perhaps this tendency for a lot of music to avoid overt politics is the root for many people to incorrectly assume music by nature lacks politics?

That is not to suggest in any manner, though, that Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols were the first to create political songs. Political music did not begin with punk music. A couple of years prior to its release, Loretta Lynn sang about the importance of birth control access in a song called ”The Pill”. A few years earlier Stevie Wonder creates “Living for the City”. A few years earlier was Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On was released. Previously, the younger generation of the 60’s sang about peace love and understanding as politically. A couple of years prior to its release, Loretta Lynn sang about the importance of birth control. Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” is about racially motivated lynching. Before, her…

These are just a smattering of examples of the top of my head. Songs of politics and protest have always been present.

Oddly, the political nature of many songs, even when voiced with clearly enunciated lyrics, are often missed by the very same people who deride politics in music even as they play, loudly, music that they believe is patriotic in nature. They will miss the obvious and cheer. Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son, for example. Better yet, Bruce Springsteen’s Born in the USA.

The songs on Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols are distant cousins to these songs, but the tone and modern method of communicating resonated more highly with many of us because albums such as Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols, stripped away all of the intellectual pretenses in favor of direct messaging. Maybe because we were born under the constant drum beat threats of imminence of nuclear war, it is easier to tap into the sincerity of these frustrations because they were not masquerading as something else. The abruptness of punk music moved me because it tapped into the emotions that overwhelmed me when I was younger and newer to the world. It provided me an outlet that was more primal and simplified. And quite frankly honest if but impolite. But it was not violently so. It was auditorily aggressive and insistent, to be sure, but not physically violent.

Music, and art in general, as a form of political expression is necessary for many of us. It often better expresses how we feel than do words alone. This art helps us find others with similar viewpoints and that helps us feel less alienated. It provides a sense of solidarity that we are not alone in our viewpoints. We can’t, nor should we, be expected to behave as human carpet letting others walk all over us. Sometimes it is necessary for many of us to vocalize those frustrations; if for no other reason to insure to others that we do exist and will continue to do so and that we are not lonely deviants. We create and share this art with others even when they do not wish to be exposed to such. We need this even when we have no hope to see the remedy of justice for the very grievances that give us anguish. It is a human need. We need these songs because we refuse to survive ostracized or stamped into oblivion by tyrannical boots. When it offends, it is likely because we ourselves have been offended by finger wagging nonsense that masquerades as righteous purity by others that are anything but. This participation also prevents us from being dehumanized into nothing more than a human resource statistic.

To be sure, I respect the rights of others to seek out music that they prefer. I take more care than many to avoid denigrating the songs other people prefer. Folks who wish to avoid political songs, should be permitted to do so. We don’t all have to agree.

But I will stand up for our right to listen to music that does express a political point of view by listening to and advocating for that music. I won’t be belligerent about it. I won’t insist you must also listen to it. But I won’t shy away from saying I listen to it. And I will insist that I will listen to it. The actual words and tones, even when you find them personally distasteful, have not, nor will they ever, meaningfully harm anyone.

Listening to music does no meaningful harm unless you play it at decibels that are demonstrably physically harmful to our ears.

Music, above anything else, is a form of human communication, and no one gets to gate keep the conversation for everyone else.

When I discovered Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols I obtained some insight into performative politics it provided it to me during a time that I required it. I use that insight and translate it into action from time to time.

I think creating tensions with a customer base is a poor business decision that harms the bottom line. When I talk about products and brands and business decisions I always have a right to not buy into or even acknowledge a brand. If a business wants to attempt to relegate guitars only a commodity, I suppose that is their prerogative. It’s a stupid prerogative, though.

When it comes to art and music and what moves us, we are no longer talking about product. We are talking about about the human condition. And the human condition, through direct and indirect observation, is clearly endlessly variable. And some of us require punk music to survive the human condition. Some people use the guitar to express that condition. It somehow taps into our DNA.

Consumers have great sway in any capital economy. We don’t have to agree to be swindled. When it comes to the human experience, sometimes we will go through periods of tension as we all try to figure out how to get along with one another without destroying everything around us. Some of us will create aggressive, assertive art. Some of us will be entirely subversive. I find that in the avenues of art, pure art, there are layers of complexity. Art is often the most pointed tool we have to critique the injustices we encounter across the planet. The music found on Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols is such art.

And though this doesn’t fix the world, it is at least it is a less lonely world sharing these frustrations with the likeminded people that share a love for similar music.

So here is to Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols. For without experiencing it, who knows what saccharine tastes and behaviors I may have otherwise acquired.